Used To Be Better
by Nyltiak
Summary: A slightly bitter Toad tries to find his place in a rapidly expanding Brotherhood.
1. Nostalgia

Sometimes I find myself missing the old days. Not the real old days, mind, not the ones at the very beginning where we were all holed up in rat-trap motels eating top ramen and sleeping on the floor. No, I wouldn't relive that if you paid me. Life might suck now, but back then, there were fucking bedbugs.

I'm talking about when we really hit our stride. When Erik finally had enough cash to buy us a boat. When we went out in to the middle of the ocean and he raised a massive fucking rock right out of the bottom of the sea. When he hollowed it out with these huge balls of metal, and told us that it was our new home. The island.

Sure, it stank like rot for a good month after he raised it, and we were always cleaning gunk out of the tunnels and finding dead fish, but those were just details. We had a home. And the whole future…it was all clean. Lay out ahead of us. There was so much shit we had to do. Well, so much work I had to do, really. I was the one with the technical know-how so it was up to me to figure out how we were gonna power this fucking place, and defense systems and plumbing (which, believe it or not, was actually the easiest part. Magneto drilled all the holes like he'd hollowed out the island, the rest was simple). To be honest, I really didn't have much of an idea about any of that stuff. I'd just always been good with my hands. Good with machines. Erik just sat me down, gave me a pile of books nearly as tall as I was and told me to get to work. Guess I caught on pretty quick.

The island used to be quiet. Sort of a sanctuary. It was this big empty place. I know I'm not good with words, here, but you've gotta know what I mean. Now it's a fucking zoo. People are packed in here like sardines. And that's not the only thing that's changed.

I know I got the short end of the stick when it came to powers. Sure, they're useful. I can use 'em to my advantage, but when people are trying to get things done, they look at a lineup and go, 'Hmm, who do I want, the guy who can start fires with his mind, or the green guy who can…jump really high?' it ain't much of a contest. Doesn't matter that I'm a good fighter. That ditz down the hall who can make those glowy bombs can kill twenty guys with one blast. I could fight that many. Maybe. But it'd take time. So I'm stuck with recon, which I fucking hate. Sure, the whole wall-crawling thing sort of lends itself to being sneaky, but it's no fun. I never get to bash heads anymore.

The only stuff I ever do around the island is maintenance. Sure, Erik goes on and on about how I 'keep the nerve center of the Brotherhood alive' or some such shit but I know, and everybody else knows, that I'm a glorified handyman. Janitor. Whatever. Mystique's happier than ever, of course. She's still second in command. Vic couldn't care less either way. The newbies get one look at his claws and stay out of his way. I had to kick a couple of asses before the Kermit jokes stopped. It was the most fun I'd had in months. Depressing.

It just used to be better with the four of us, up against the world. We were a small, elite unit. We all knew each other, we relied on each other. I guess if I'm gonna get all sappy anyway, I might as well say it—we were our own little dysfunctional family. Now I don't know half the people on this bloody island. They let anyone with a pulse and an active X-Gene waltz through the goddamn door. No, I don't know them, but they know me. I'm easy to pick out in a crowd.  
That's another thing. We don't got as many freaks as we used to. See, that's what I always thought was wrong with Xavier's team. They're mostly pretties. The only two freaks I can name are that Nightcrawler kid and the doc. Angel doesn't count. Sure, he's got wings, but he's got a pretty-boy face, just like the rest of them. It's because of that the X-Men just can't get us. They don't understand that what they're trying to do is fucking impossible because they've always been able to pass.

Anyway. Don't want to get in to that. I'll be talking all night if I start on that. Sure, we outnumber the X-Men now, but it's all about quantity and quality. These new recruits didn't have the training that I had when I joined up. There's just too many of them, and too few of us original members to train them. It's not gonna end well.

The ditz down the hall tried to talk to me today while I was in the middle of working. You think being under car, covered in engine grease with headphones on would be message enough for some people, but no. She started talking about the car I was under like she was some sorta expert, but it was fucking obvious she'd looked up the specs on Wikipedia not five minutes ago. No idea who she's trying to impress. She finally got the picture—took me about ten minutes of responding grunts and shrugs but I think something finally got through to that little peroxide drenched brain of hers. The wonders never bloody cease.

Erik called me in to his office today. The solar panels on the west side of the island are on the fritz again, apparently, and the west wing's been experiencing brown outs all afternoon. Everything's breaking around here. We just have too many people now. Brown outs aren't that urgent anyway. And that little fuck Pyro is in the west wing. I figured I'd let him suffer a little longer. I wasn't even done gathering up the parts to fix the damn things before he called me back again, and told me tomorrow we're going to visit the Morlocks.

Yeah, them.

People think I have an unhealthy attitude towards humans and pretties, look at those poor sods. At least I don't think I should be living in a shithole. Honestly, I've been there. They say they live in inactive tunnels, but you can never really get the shit smell out of a sewer. And there are rats. Perfectly nutritional, rats, but they're creepy. They skitter all over the place and got those beady little eyes. Unsettling.

Anyway, he wants me and Mystique in his little entourage to the underworld. Get a few freaks on the docket to make us look more attractive, right? Nice to know I'm useful for something. For fuck's sake, you know I really wouldn't mind if he just said outright 'hey, Toad, yeah, you're the freakiest guy we got so we gotta bring you with to make nice with the Morlocks, is that okay?' I'd be fine with that. That'd be fantastic. But no, it's all 'after much consideration, you're the best one for the job' like suddenly I'm a master of diplomacy and a big people person. Fucking lovely, innit?


	2. The Land Of Stench

You never forget the smell. There are certain things you do forget, like how slippery the rungs are on the way down, how the air gets this thick, muddy feel to it after a couple of hours, but the one thing you never forget is the smell. You can't get away from it. You can't even get used to it. Every time you think that you've just about got yourself accustomed to the stench, a little breeze comes down the tunnel, carrying the smell of fresh shit with it. And that's not to mention the Morlocks themselves. You know when you stick baking soda in the fridge, and after awhile it starts to smell like all the shit you keep in there? That's sort of what happens to your average Morlock. They absorb the stink. No matter how much they wash—and believe me, those poor sods don't get the chance very often—they have this… cloud that follows them around when they visit the surface.

Anyway, I went first, and watched as Mystique and Erik made their way down. Erik was in his full costume. Helmet. Cape. Suit. I tried to tell him what was gonna happen to that fucking cape once we got down here, but he'd have none of it. The man somehow manages to be dignified even down here.

Personally, I need this trip about as much as I need another bloody hole in my head. I sort of owe the Morlocks. They did me a favor awhile back, after the Liberty Island incident. Some of their salvage teams found me washed up near one of the storm drains down by the water, and dragged my sorry carcass back to their little shit city. But far be it from me to decline the first fucking mission I've been given in months. I figured I'd just do my best to look sorta thankful, and not let Calisto catch me alone, so she couldn't get a chance to cash in her debts. Sounded like a good plan at the time, anyway.

Magneto looked around slowly, brow furrowed slightly. The helmet messes with his peripheral vision so he really had to crane his neck a bit. I resisted the urge to smirk—I've always hated that goddamn helmet. It's all show. All flash. The Brotherhood isn't supposed to be about that. Not like I got a bad word against Magneto—I don't. Sometimes I just think he brings class to stuff that don't need it, you know what I mean?

"It appears our guide is late," he said.

"I know the way."

"By all means, Toad, lead on," he said. He didn't question me any further. Later I wondered about that. Maybe he just assumed a guy like me would be familiar with the Morlocks. Maybe he just didn't want to pry. Unlikely, but hell, I'm willing to give the benefit of the doubt, especially to him. Or maybe he knew. Maybe there was never any fucking guide, maybe he knew I'd been down here, that I knew the way. Maybe he was trying to tell me that there was nothing I could do that he couldn't fucking puzzle out.

Maybe I'm just getting paranoid.

I've always had a good sense of direction. I grew up in the city; it sorta comes with the territory. When you lived like I did, you had to know the roads like the back of your hand, in case you needed to leg it.

It wasn't long before we reached a big, rusted iron gate, the entrance to the Morlock city. Calisto—that one-eyed bitch—was waiting for us. The gate swung open, barely missing me as it passed. I glared but Calisto happily ignored it. Now she was all smiles.

"The Brotherhood is always welcome here," she said. Guess she was trying to sound gracious. Sophisticated. It sounded forced. I knew that she didn't want us here. She didn't want us recruiting any of her members, dragging them back topside. I don't think Erik bought it either. They were friendly, but Erik gets this look on his face when he thinks you're giving him the run around. His words are polite, you couldn't catch him saying anything rude—it's just the way he says it that makes it clear that you're not much better than the stuff he just scraped off the bottom of his shoe. Calisto was still all smiles, though. Maybe she was ignoring him. Maybe she was just too stupid to figure out Magneto knew what he knew. I don't know.

You know what I never got? How Calisto got to be the leader of a bunch of poor gits so mutated that they can't live on the fucking surface. Sure, she lost an eye. Sure, she's got a few scars. Doesn't change the fact that she's a pretty. These freaks are living in a sodding _shithole_, they've cursed humanity and all that, created this whole community full of people like them, and they still elect a her to be their leader. Un-fucking-believable.

I cracked my knuckles as we walked in to the main chamber. It was huge. I gotta hand it to the Morlocks, despite the smell, they picked a great location. The city was made mostly of wood. Everything looked shoddy, like it was about to collapse, but everything was built to the ceiling way above us, and it really had an effect on you. You could hear voices everywhere, echoing off the concrete walls. Kids were playing on the ground level as parents watched on. There weren't many old timers here. Just a few, and they were sitting out on balconies and porches just like fogeys everywhere else.

Lemme tell you, some of these guys made me look right handsome. There was this one guy with a melting face. Like someone'd made him outta mud. I decided that I should come down here more often, when the chip on my shoulder gets a little too big for its own good. Going down there always gives me a little bit of perspective.

"Very impressive," said Erik, and he sounded sincere.

"We've worked very hard," she said, puffing her chest out a little bit. Despite the fact she didn't want him here; a compliment from the Master of Magnetism himself wasn't something to sniff at.

"How many mutants do you have down here? Two hundred, perhaps?"  
"Two hundred and seventy seven," Calisto said proudly. "The largest single community of mutants on the planet."

Yeah. Too bad it was in a fucking sewer.

"I was wondering if some of your citizens would be interested in joining my cause," Erik said, smiling warmly at the crowd that was quickly forming around us. Newcomers don't come down to the sewers often.

Calisto plastered on a false smile. It looked painful.

"Anyone who wishes to go with you is free to do so. This is a sanctuary, not a prison," her posture said otherwise. She knew that Magneto was raising an army, that the Island was full to the brim and he was still recruiting more, and more.

"Many thanks," he said, and proceeded to give the same stirring speech that he'd given for years. The time of oppression has come to an end, make a difference, fight the good fight and all that. He manages to make the speech sound off the cuff and sincere every time. I actually caught a few people in the crowd crying before he was through. I just tried to stand straight, and keep my face still like a good little soldier. Because that's what Toad's always been, right? The perfect little soldier. Never questioning orders. Sure, you want Sabretooth guarding you? The impulsive git who fucked up the trial run? The one who fucked up a simple pickup because he spent too long messing with that furry Canadian? Sure boss. No boss, wouldn't dream of arguing, boss. Fuck me.

By the time we left we had a dozen new recruits trailing after us. They looked excited. Nervous, too, but they were about to become part of the most infamous group of mutants the world had ever known. The Brotherhood. Nobody'd mess with them now—you could practically see it on their faces-nobody'd throw rocks or call them 'mutie' anymore.

Not true. People still call me shit all the time. Being a part of the Brotherhood didn't change that at all—it's just now I can beat them to a bloody pulp, if I like.


	3. Trouble on the Homefront

I knew there was something wrong. I imagine a few others did too. Mystique should've spotted something, she's smart. But we didn't do anything. We didn't even talk about it. Didn't even think on it too long, not long enough for anything to really take hold. Looking back on it, I wondered if he'd hired a few of the psychics he'd recruited pull something over on all of us, but honestly, I know the chances of that were slim to none. Erik doesn't trust psychics much anymore, see.

What was really happening was fucking obvious. We were just too penned in to see anything. We'd always followed Erik—he'd been the leader of the freaks and the outcasts long before the Brotherhood opened its doors to the general public. None of us were willing to admit that he'd fucking lost it. But I'm getting ahead of myself, ain't I?

It wasn't long until we got back to the island. The newbies oohed and aahed as we circled overhead. The island was quite a sight from the air. They didn't know that they'd be crammed three to a room, sharing a bathroom with sixteen other unlucky bastards. I guess I should count myself lucky I wasn't among them. I had seniority, see, even though I was basically useless. I got my own bedroom, own bathroom. I don't think Erik did it out of gratitude for my years of service—for the time I nearly fucking died—no. I know why he did it. He wanted to make it seem like you could move up in the Brotherhood if you devoted enough time and if you tried hard, and that Magneto took care of his own. What a crock of shit.

I landed the bird a little rougher than necessary, getting a sharp look from the bossman and Mystique. I grunted my apologies and ducked out, not wanting to get roped into showing the fresh meat around. As far as I was concerned, they were on their own.

I moved through the hangar in to the compound proper, towards my workshop. Like I said, with all these people around there's no shortage of broken shit, and I don't really mind—tinkering helps me think. Mostly weapons maintenance, but there were some appliances there as well, piled high on tables. Grubby sticky notes were slapped on some of the orders that took priority, but I tended to ignore them. The work got done in the end, I didn't really care what order it was done in.

I was up to my elbows in grease and engine parts when I heard the most dreadful fucking sound on the entire goddamn planet. It wasn't loud. No. It was this little dainty cough. It was the most irritating fucking cough I'd ever heard.

The first few times I just thought the dumb bitch was lost. Or bored. Something. But that blonde bimbo—the one who makes the bombs—she kept showing up. She kept on tiptoeing in and looking over my shoulder and commenting on the music I was playing and generally just mucking up the works. She moves things and fiddles with them and asks questions, and knocks shit over—it's enough to drive you insane.

So as soon as I heard that fucking cough I felt my shoulders tense up. I tried to ignore it at first. Maybe I misheard. It was so fucking quiet. Could've made a mistake. The next cough was a little less dainty. I smirked, but didn't turn around. What was a girl like her trying to prove, being all ladylike? I'd seen her around the others. She could hardly keep her hands off of every pretty-boy on the island (heard some interesting stories about those hands of hers, too) so I didn't fucking get what she was doing in here. The third cough was even louder. I rolled my eyes.

"Did you lose a bet or something, princess?" I asked, still not turning towards her.

"What?" she asked. She popped her gum. I'd be willing to bet my left nut that she was curling her hair with her index finger.

"I said 'did you lose a bet'? Are you deaf or just thick?" I snorted.

"I…" she said, sounding a little more uncertain now. "I was just wondering if I could like…help, or whatever."

I turned slowly in my seat, and fixed her with a stare. "You. Help me?"

"Yeah," she said, sounding hopeful all of the sudden, shooting me a perfect smile. "I can totally help. I can look for stuff for you. Or like organize things."

"Uh huh," I said slowly. "Can I ask you something, pet?"

"Yeah, sure! Anything," she agreed enthusiastically.

"Who'd you have to blow to get your foot in the door, princess?" I paused, and when she didn't answer, I continued, "Cos you sure as shit don't belong here. You'll never belong here. So do us both a favor and stop tryin' to be my friend," I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, and watched her face, ready for the waterworks.

At first, there was just shock. I could see the neurons firing in her head as her pretty face started to crumple. Her lips parted for a second, like I she was gonna say something, but then she thought better of it, running off quick and wiping her eyes.

I bet that a girl like that isn't used to getting rejected, especially not from someone like me. I smiled to myself and turned back to my work, figuring that the day hadn't been a total waste.


	4. The Cure

AN: As you can probably already tell, this story is roughly following the events of X3. However, I'm changing a few key points: Raven is not in prison, for instance.

It's hard to believe that it's actually happened. I mean, I knew that the other side's been working on it for years, but I thought it'd be years in coming. You think those fucking doctors had more important things to worry about. Finding a cure for cancer, or shit like that. Making jetpacks, I don't know. Shows how much money can do when put in the right places.

A third of the new Brotherhood took off overnight. Of course, Erik was fucking furious, but to be honest, I'm not surprised in the least. The Brotherhood is mostly made up of freaks, after all. People who can't blend in. Some of us lucky bastards have been this way since we were born, and let me tell you, it ain't easy. Mystique looked surprised to see me at all.

"I thought you'd be on the first boat out," she said, giving me a slow once over.

"What, and ruin my good looks?" I said dryly.

"Crazier things have happened." She said, putting her hand on her hip.

"And what would I do, then? Get a job as a mechanic? Get an apartment—pay rent? Rub elbows with all the other bloody normals like there isn't a war waging outside?" she smiled, apparently approving of my answer. To be honest I was a bit surprised she thought I would jump ship. I've been here since the start, after all, and I believe in the stuff we do. Plus, I fucking _love_ my job. Well I did, before I got demoted to grease monkey.

"Erik and I are going to a meeting tonight. There are going to be quite a few mutant leaders there. He wants you to come with."

"What, am I playing arm candy again? Goody."

"Not exactly. We need you working security. Erik says you're the best man for the job—we don't want any of Xavier's people dropping in while we're out in the open." I smirked a little bit. I was being rewarded, like the family pet. Toad hasn't run away? Good, give him a biscuit. I shouldn't really bitch too much though, cos I fell for it. Of course I did. The opportunity to stretch my legs was too much after being cooped up here for so long, and I hadn't gotten to go toe to toe with one of those smug sons of bitches in ages. I was ready.

The place was an absolute dump. What is it about mutants in this city? Why do we congregate in sewers and abandoned buildings like goddamn cockroaches? I know it's not like we can rent the community center, but for fuck's sake, but would it kill us to find somewhere that doesn't smell like shit?

I watched the proceedings from the rafters. Raven was by the boss's side, eyes scanning the crowd. She looked at ease, but I could tell that she was ready for trouble. The greasy-haired git was scanning the crowd, looking all puffed up with his new flamethrowers. Nobody looked impressed, and I wasn't surprised. Fire or not, he was outnumbered, and shit at hand-to-hand. If he started anything he'd be nothing but a shiny stain on the pavement.

Mags gave his usual speech, but it had a different tone this time. It wasn't just the normal inspirational bullshit, the call to arms. He was trying to scare them. I clung to the ceiling, checking the exits, watching for trouble, but something was bothering me. Erik was fucking _scared_. I glanced down at Mystique, and she met my eyes for a second. I think she knew it, too.

I'd only ever seen Erik scared once before, and it didn't hold a candle to what was going on now. I'm not saying he was shaking. He didn't _look_ scared. He looked fucking angry, sounded it too, and that's how I knew. Mags is all about being composed, collected. Sure, he'll get pissed at us if we fuck up out on a mission, but that's all disdain, see. Anger's something different. The idea of the cure, and of the feds turning it in to a weapon, has got him nervous. It's easy to see why, even for a guy like me. He's one of the most powerful people on the planet. If someone manages to dose him up with the cure, he'll just be a bitter old man. Powerless. Helpless.

It was late when we got back. We'd picked up six new recruits, but that didn't make up what we'd lost, not even close. Erik seemed satisfied, however. Even if we hadn't gotten many direct recruits, quite a few mutant gangs had sworn their allegiance if the feds ended up weaponizing the cure. Not too shabby. Of course, that wasn't the end of things. Erik talked about a pair of mutants he was looking for. He called them his "secret weapons". I shit you not.

I tried to catch Raven's eye, but she was avoiding me, her arm around Magneto, talking to him in hushed tones. Sometimes I think that woman is fucking blind. She's smart, but if something has to do with Magneto, she's oblivious. I shook my head and went in to the kitchen, hoping that Fred hadn't scarfed the last of the ribs.

There was a woman in there, dressed in black leather. Her hair was cut short and messy and dyed black. I grinned to myself, admiring her from behind for a quick moment before moving towards the fridge. Goddamn. I assumed she was one of the new recruits we'd picked up from the church.

Then she turned around. She'd gotten an omega tattoo, a small one, right under her left eye. Her lip was pierced now, as well as her nose. The stylized DNA strand the Brotherhood uses as its mark ran under her collarbone, right before the swell of her breast.

It was the fucking blonde.

She was wearing dark makeup, and she was glaring. She wouldn't have looked out of place with a whip and spiked heels, an image that I didn't mind in the least. The transformation was insane. If someone had told me what she was planning to do before, I would've laughed, I would've thought she'd look ridiculous. But she didn't.

She stalked over to me, and I backed up out of surprise. She backed me up against the fridge, looking like she was going to say something, and then she slapped me. She fucking _slapped_ _me_.

Alright, I'm going to be perfectly honest—this isn't the first time that I've been slapped by a woman. Not by a long shot. But I wasn't expecting it from her. What I did expect was some kind of diatribe. You know, 'how dare you talk to me like that, you fucking freak' or 'no wonder you're alone' or 'That's the closest you're gonna get to getting laid, ever', y'know, the usual. But she didn't say anything. She just left, without a word, hips swaying, leaving me to stand there like an idiot, staring after her.


End file.
